


A Rungian Hentai

by UltraSwagnus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Ahegao, Angst, Anxiety, Begging, Body Horror, Crying, Eggs, Embarrassment, Flirting, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mechpreg, Medical Procedures, Mood Swings, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Other, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tentacles, Unrequited Crush, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Vibrators, Weight Gain, Wet Dream, dubcon, fantasies, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 11:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltraSwagnus/pseuds/UltraSwagnus
Summary: What Rung believed to be a good time evolves into a living nightmare.





	A Rungian Hentai

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Quick note here. Please read the tags before reading this fic to spare yourself from anything that might make you uncomfortable. If you're good with all of the above, please enjoy this hot mess of a train wreck!

His package had arrived much sooner than he had expected. Usually when something was ordered “off-world,” it took at least a few weeks before the delivery ship would reach the Lost Light. Only a week had passed since he had made the initial order, and Rung was now headed down familiar corridors that lead to one of the several elevators that would take him to the lower decks where smaller vehicles could board with ease.

Upon receiving the memo from Ultra Magnus, he had left his private quarters immediately. He hoped that the Second in Command wouldn’t ask too many questions about why a seemingly random transport vessel had hailed them just to deliver his package. The psychiatrist couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of anxiety as the elevator descended into the bowels of the ship. The last thing he wanted to do was confess to anyone that he had ordered an organic-based false spike.

The elevator stopped and he stepped out into the large docking room and walked past the Rod Pod and other exploration vehicles. And there was Ultra Magnus, looking as dignified as ever, signing for the package that was almost too small to fit in his hand. The non-cybertronian mechanical being looked rather pissed. If he had to guess, Rung would say that Ultra Magnus had read over the forms at least three times and found some errors in the text, wasting the delivery mech’s time.

After signing, the armored mech handed the datapad back to the smaller one who snatched it and returned to his own ship, muttering curses of a foreign dialect before taking off. Magnus turned after closing the escape hatch to see Rung standing before him with a nervous smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Sorry about all the trouble,” Rung apologized.

“It’s no trouble,” the blue mech replied, “however, there was quite a bit of a ruckus on the bridge when an unknown ship was requesting entry with your name attached to the transmission.”

“I can imagine so,” the spectacled mech agreed. He wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible and retreat with his new toy in tow. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a new model ship to assemble.” He motioned towards the box as to illude the contents of it.

“Just a second, Rung,” Ultra Magnus interjected.

“Hm?”

“I’ll need to inspect the package before it’s taken any further into the Lost Light. Just as a safety precaution.”

A pang of anxiety sparked through him at the words. He should have known that something like this would happen. For crying out loud it was _Ultra Magnus_. He had to think of something quick.

“Do you think that’s really necessary?” he fake laughed. “It’s just a model ship afterall.”

The Second in Command furrowed his metal brow. “Yes. It’s coming from an unmarked, unknown carrier class vehicle. Non-Cybertronian, _might I add_. The package itself if dubious in the shipping labeling. There are just too many red flags to ignore. This will only take a moment.”

Ultra Magnus took off to the examination room that had been built into this section of the docking area for such occasions. Rung followed after him like a lost cyber puppy, trying to find the right words to say to deter the larger mech from exposing his exotic purchase, but no words came to him.

The smaller room lit up as they entered it and the blue bot set the package on top of a highly decked out pedestal. The device that powered it hummed and beeped and flashed different colored buttons as the box was scanned. Rung dared not to look as the contents were being scanned and the image of his toy waited to be displayed on the x-ray monitor.

“That’s odd,” Magnus spoke, drawing the unwilling psychiatrist back into the reality of the situation. “There’s some kind of scanning deterrent built into the packaging. The image won’t be able to be extracted or projected.”

_“Thank goodness,”_ the orange bot sighed to himself.

“I’ll have to open it and examine it manually.”

_“Oh, please don’t…!”_

Before he could even spit out any form of objection, Magnus had already opened the box. The commander peered inside and his optics grew a bit wide. He looked at Rung, who was looking at anything but the opened box or him. He folded the box flaps back together and handed it down to the clearly embarrassed mech.

“It’s clear,” he choked out, his own face plates beginning to flush.

The spectacled mech grabbed the package and left swiftly.

* * *

  
After finally returning to his room, he set the box down on his berth and sighed. That did not go as he would have preferred, but the past could not be changed. Rung took the small instruction booklet and began to flip through it. It was poorly translated, but he could make out a good portion of it. “A lifelike experience,” was the tagline, and that was good enough for him. There was a note about warming oneself up before use, as the device reacted mainly through the user’s arousal. Luckily for Rung, he was an advocate for some good foreplay.

He hoisted himself onto the berth and made himself comfortable, legs spread apart. He took off his glasses and set them gently inside of his subspace. Rung offlined his optics as a servo wandered towards his modesty plating and started tracing the sensitive seams that lived there. He sighed as he grazed over the covers of his his spike housing and valve port with his hand. His arousal began to ignite and slowly burn across is lower circuits as he teased himself.

But it wasn’t enough. The ornament wanted more. The spike housing opened with a click, and the metal member ascended into his grip. Rung murmured soft hums of approval with each passing stroke. When had he last done this? It had been quite some time, as his spike was quick to remind him. Without warning, the appendage spurted and striped his abdominal plates. It came fast and was just about pleasureless. An absolutely ruined moment.

Rung looked at the sight before him. He frowned as he loosened his grip on the depressurizing spike and reached for a conveniently placed towel that was on the berthside table next to him. The psychiatrist bitterly began to clean up his mess. He couldn’t decide which emotion hurt worse, disgust or disappointment. Rung figured both were equally terrible and finished his impromptu clean up job.

* * *

  
Sitting back on a clean berth, Rung took the toy in his hands to examine it. He secretly hoped that doing so would bring back the mood he had lost from his premature overload. The toy looked exactly as it had been pictured in the online listing. It was a limp looking severed tentacle with a unique texture. He knew it was some kind of synthetic material but it was registering through his neural processors as purely organic. _Talk about high quality_.

For the first time this day, Rung gave a genuine smile. But the smile was short lived, as doubt clouded his thought processors. How did this thing even work? It showed no signs of any mechanical workings. No motor, no buttons, no nothing. Only the poorly translated instructions that were provided in the shipping package. He recalled the note about “activation through the user’s arousal” and wondered if he was aroused enough to even cause the device to flinch.

Reclining back into the birth as he had done before countless times, the orange mech retracted the protective plating that hid the opening of his valve. Sticking a single digit between his meshy lips, which were warm and slick with his own personal lubricant, he chuckled to himself.

_“That should do.”_

Parting the metal folds with one hand and firmly grasping the synthetic tentacle with the other, he pressed the objects against himself, waiting to see if contact alone would cause any reaction. After a few seconds, the tentacle began to awaken from its stasis. It wiggled and squirmed between his legs. The sensation was unique and exciting, and Rung wanted to have that feeling buried deep inside of himself.

He started with just the tip, which seemed to very much enjoy being inside of the psychiatrist. It writhed as if wanting to deepen the penetration, which Rung was more than happy to oblige. As the textured limb entered into him further, the mech could feel what could only be described as bliss. The tentacle began to branch off with smaller tendrils that wrapped around the clusters of sensory nodules that lined the inside of the valve port and swirled around them.

_“O-Oh..!!”_

Rung had never had so many pleasure points stimulated simultaneously before. He moaned with each passing moment. The tendrils inside of him rubbed and stroked everything they could touch. Rung could’ve sworn they were looking for something deep inside of him, and he knew it had to be his approaching overload.

A determined hand began thrusting the toy with a hastening vigor. The quick moaning morphed into a long, drawn out groan with each stroke. It was fantastic. Rung huffed and puffed as he continued to coax the overload out of his filled valve, but the grip on his new toy was becoming more and more difficult. Upon a closer inspection, he realized that the tentacle had been secreting a thick lubricant, which explained why he could no longer get a good hold on it. A nice touch, he noted, but the touch only became nicer. The thick lubricant suddenly began warming inside of him. It had fully coated the internal structure of his valve, and the motions of the main tentacle and its smaller counterparts made the warming lubricant tingle.

Taking the synthetic lubricant that had gotten on his servo, Rung made the decision to rub it into his anterior node as the toy continued to work itself inside of him. It didn’t take long before the warming and tingling effect was circled into the rounded piece.

_“Oh, yes!! ♥”_

The psychiatrist arched his hips into his own touch. His thought processes felt fuzzy and the warming sensation from his lower circuit points had spread throughout his frame. He felt light, like floating on clouds of energon. He also found himself struggling to move as quickly as he had been. Rung had entered a state of heightened euphoria.

And then the overload came, the shifting tendrils inside of the clenching chamber slowed to a loving pace. Blue optics filled with optical lubricant rolled in their socket joints, accompanied by an open mouth that lazily sang oohs and aahs. Rung’s frame trembled gently as the climax signals came and went almost as fast as he did. And as the final wave receded, the spent mech took some needed ventilations and eased back onto the berth. The toy had stopped moving entirely after the overload had finished, which Rung found to be a fascinating feature. Whatever kind of technology this thing was made of, the manufacturer had his sincerest thanks.

Using his clean servo, he reached back into his subspace to retrieve his glasses. After they had been adjusted properly onto his face, he was better able to see the mess that had accumulated between his thighs.

_“Goodness,”_ he sighed. The mixture of his own fluids and the warming solution provided from the toy had melded into a large puddle that was dripping over the berth’s edge and onto the floor below. Rung wasn’t a usually messy mech, so this came as a surprise to him. His brows furrowed a bit at the sight. This would be a pain to clean. However, the first order of business was to remove his new favorite “model ship” from his stuffed valve.

Rung extended his hand between his thighs once more and grabbed the base of the synthetic tentacle. One would think that with so much lubrication the object would have slid out without any trouble at all, but one would be wrong. As he pulled harder, almost in a panic, the smaller tentacles sprang back to life and began pushing in the opposite direction. The lubrication that Rung thought would work in his favor turned against him, and the tentacle wedged itself completely into him.

The almost panic transformed into a full blown frenzy of anxiety within the psychiatrist’s brain module. Both hands scrambled to try and get a few servos inside in an attempt to get the thing out but to no avail. The not-so-synthetic tentacle was stuck, and it seemed to be exactly where it wanted to be. Rung huffed and puffed as he became well aware of how futile his efforts were. His thoughts bounced back and forth trying to find a proper solution, avoiding the only viable one. As if having the Second in Command seeing your new toy in all it’s unboxed glory wasn’t shameful enough, the thought of having to explain this situation to Ratchet would be at least ten times worse. Not only because a sentient sex toy had made a new home inside of him, but because of the unrequited feelings the ornament had for the doctor.

It didn’t help that every time he saw him, every time he felt like he had a chance to say something, or wave hello, or even pass a smile, Ratchet’s attention would be pulled away by the magnetized force of Drift’s presence. Being easy to miss and unnoticeable had its perks, but it didn’t go without its consequences either. Rung saw how they looked at each other. How Ratchet looked at the speedster and not at him. How—

_“Enough,”_ he thought to himself. Now wasn’t the time for these thoughts, _or_ these feelings. Now was the time to clean up this mess and figured out what to do, with ‘going to see the ship’s medic’ being a last and final resort.

* * *

  
Rodimus laid as he always did on the metal slab of emotional interrogation in Rung’s office. Arms stretched behind his helm with one ankle joint crossing over the other in a relaxed fashion. The captain’s optics remained fixated on the metal ceiling above him. It hadn’t changed at all since his last session, but he still wondered if the bolts that held the slats in their place would magically morph into stars that would spell out the answers to his problems, instead of having to speak directly to Rung, who was acting strange today for some reason. He was moving at a slower and more cautious pace, almost like he was walking on eggshells. The red mech noticed that his therapist seemed more at ease while sitting in his chair, but the uncomfortable look on his face never left. After a short eternity of silence, he craned his neck cables to look at the other, whose optics were glued to the screen of a datapad, lower lip pressed between rows of dentae.

“Rung? _Helloooo?_ Anyone home??”

* * *

  
Rung sat at the large table in his office where he meticulously took apart and put back together his prized possessions. It was a quiet day aboard the Lost Light, another day where he sat in peaceful solitude thinking about how things would be better if it weren't in such a solitude.

As if the threads that wove the fabrics of space and time heard his silent desires, fate began to knock on the metal door, signalling that someone had reached their destiny. Before he could respond to whoever it was, the sliding metal door opened, and Ratchet strode in, causing the door to slide shut once more.

“Ratchet! This is a surprise,” Rung said with a hearty smile. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“There is, actually,” the medic confirmed. The psychiatrist looked deep into Ratchet’s optics as he came closer, shortening the distance between them. The white mech knelt down, allowing only a few inches to keep their lips apart. Rung instinctively put a gentle hand on the other’s upper arm.

“What is it, Ratchet?”

Ratchet, taking the opposite arm, outstretched the servo that was connected at the end of it and placed it upon the side of Rung’s face. The thumb began to caress the now flushing plates that rested under it.

“I’m fond of you,” were the words spoken just moments before Ratchet leaned in and placed his lips over Rung’s. The orange mech reciprocated the action just as quick, and with no objections whatsoever. The kiss was only broken when Rung stood to meet the ambulance at eye level. Rung pressed the palms of his hands on the sides of the medic’s helm and pulled himself closer into the medic’s personal space.

The ornament resumed the kiss with an open intake, which translated to Ratchet as an open invitation for his glossa. Rung moaned softly as the wet piece of metal invaded his mouth and mingled with his own. A shiver sparked across his backstrut as Ratchet’s hands stroked between his shoulder plates and worked their way further down, finally finding Rung’s hips and giving them soft, coaxing squeezes.

“I don’t think this is appropriate, _Doctor_,” Rung flirted, placing one of his own digits over Ratchet’s intake.

“I don’t think you care,” Ratchet replied, giving the finger a firm stroke with the tip of his glossa.

“You’re right, I don’t,” the psychiatrist chuckled. “Let’s move this elsewhere, shall we?”

Elsewhere became the reclinable slab that his patients were so accustomed to. Rung personally found the lounge to be decently comfortable while lying on his back, but being on all fours like he was now was much more comfortable, especially while Ratchet was pounding him from behind.

The smaller mech struggled to support his upper body as his lower half was gripped firmly into the hands of the ambulance, who had decided that Rung was nothing more than his personal fuck toy, to which the other did not mind at all.

Ratchet grunted, “Have you always been this tight, Rung?”

Rung groan with each exit and re-entrance of the thick spike against the sensory network that lined his valve. “It-It’s been a while,” he confessed.

The medic laughed. “That’s a shame, considering how wet and eager you are.” Ratchet withdrew himself completely, drawing out a whine from the psychiatrist in the process. But the whine quickly transformed into a cry of shock at a new sensation.

_“Just look at you,”_ Ratchet boasted, running two delicate fingers between metal lips that were coated in liquid arousal.

“Ooooh, Ratchet! AHHhhh!! ♥”

“You’re gorgeous.” The phrase was almost drowned out by the very audible squelching sounds of Rung being lovingly fingered.

“Even more so than Drift?” he loudly sighed, trying to sound more horny than jealous of the sword mech. The question caused the fingering to stop.Rung turned his head to see the look of confusion on Ratchet’s face.

“Who’s Drift?” the ambulance asked genuinely. Rung’s spark leapt at the words.

“Take me, Ratchet. I’m all yours,” he whined.

“Not yet you’re not.” Taking the well lubricated fingers against Rung’s anterior node, the medic began to rub as if he was laying claim to the sensitive jewel. “Gotta make sure you _really_ want me to take you first.” As Ratchet continued, Rung could feel the charge build between his legs.

_“That’s a good mech,”_ the medic cooed.

Rung almost melted at the sound of the words. He could feel it in his lower tanks. He was getting close and knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Especially when he was being spoken to like that by Ratchet.

The medic continued to swipe rhythmically on Rung’s anterior node, bringing him closer and closer to climax.

_“Oh_, Ratchet! Please, please, _please_ make me come..!” he pleaded. Ratchet gave a reply, but it was muffled and staticy. “What was that? I didn’t—” as the psychiatrist turned his head, he saw Rodimus behind him.

“Rung? _Helloooo?_ Anyone home??”

* * *

Rung snapped out of his lustful fantasy to see Rodimus looking straight at him on the metal chaise longue.

“Are you ok?” the captain asked.

Rung was fine, if you considered a sentient tentacle teasing your anterior node for the past quarter hour to be fine. Of all the times for it to abstain from domancy it had to be during a session with a patient. And with Rodimus, of all people.

“I’m fine, Rodmus. Thank you.”

The psychiatrist bit his glossa as the tendrill swirled deviously at his very stimulated node, arousing it further. His valve wasn’t helping either, becoming responsive to the sensations as well. Thankfully he had one leg crossed over the other as to hide any signs of excitement that may seep through his seams.

Unfortunately for the psychiatrist, the growing wetness between his thighs only awakened the living monster that dwelled within him. The tentacle itself began to squirm and unfurl it’s smaller counterparts to once again tease at the mech relentlessly from the inside.

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting strange since I walked through the door,” Rodimus said with a concerned tone.

“I can assure you, I’m—OH, MERCY!!”

Rung threw his head back and covered his mouth with his free hand as the organic mass began maneuvering itself in a thrusting motion and landed direct hits onto his ceiling node.

“Rung?! Rung, what’s wrong?!” the captain shouted. He got up and knelt down before the smaller mech and grasped the sides of his arms with care. “What is it?! Should I get Ratchet?!”

_“No!!”_ he shouted, looking down at Rodimus with hazy vision. “I’m just...having a headache. That’s all,” he lied with a quivering voice.

“Sounds pretty bad. Maybe you should lie down? Can I reschedule?”

Before he could reply to the flame-painted mech, he came in front of him. With his mouth agape and goggles flickering, Rodimus was oblivious to what was happening. The “toy” ceased it’s writhing and thrusting and retracted completely inside of the contracting valve as the overload subsided, leaving Rung to sit in his shame.

“Y-Yes, Rodimus. That would be fine,” he whined out.

The captain got up and left, but not before saying “take care of yourself, doc,” to the humiliated mech.

When Rung heard the metal door seal shut, he slumped over in his chair and pressed his face firmly into the palms of his hands and sobbed.

* * *

After he had calmed himself down, Rung stood and hesitated to look at the seat of the chair. He did, and proved his hesitation to be valid. He stared back at the glistening reflection of his downtrodden face in the small pool of his own fluid. The fluid didn’t stop there. It trailed down his thighs and legs and onto the floor as he stood. _Disgusting._

He grabbed a few tissues from the metallic box on the table next to the lounge and laid it on the chair to absorb the mess. He grabbed a couple more and began wiping away at the drip marks that were beginning to stain his legs. Shame burned into anger in Rung’s spark. But who, or _what_, was he more angry with? The tentacle “toy” that was making him into a fool in front of members of the crew, or himself for not fully knowing what he had gotten himself into?

He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

Ok, he very much did care, but neither answer changed the fact that he was absolutely miserable.

* * *

  
Rung held the medic’s helm as firmly as he could, forbidding it from being anywhere but between his thighs as he laid on his berth. He was under complete submission with his valve being eaten clean. The erotically grotesque slurping sounds only added to the self awareness of the act.

Ratchet was making sure to have every square inch of him coated in his oral solvent. He wanted to make sure that _his_ valve glistened against the light of his optics. The ambulance plunged glossa into the psychiatrist’s valve and delighted in the response it received.

The larger mech, delighted in the sounds he was being rewarded, decided to go full throttle and focus on the cherry red anterior node that had been waiting patiently for stimulation. He gave maddeningly soft kisses on the receptor before bringing his intake completely around it. Rung arched his lower linkage as Ratchet sucked on him nice and hard.

The medic changed the pace by swishing the hot metal of his glossa across the node, which triggered the psychiatrist’s valve to flow with personal lubricant. Rung’s hands trembled as he continued to grip the helm of Ratchet, using it now as leverage to grind himself into the larger mech’s mouth. Taking the hint, the ambulance added his dentae to the equation. The nibbling on his anterior node was the push he needed to jump start his climax.

He opened his mouth and screamed Ratchet’s name, but no sound came from it. It was a hard, almost painful overload, and it burned through his array’s internal structure. The pleasure of it ended as if it never started, and Rung found himself writhing in agony as Ratchet seemed not to notice any change in his responses.

He tried saying his name once more, but again his vocalizer was muted. Sitting up, he pushed Ratchet’s face away from between his legs, only to see absolute horror.

Ratchet’s face was completely gone, as if someone has sanded his features down and replaced them with tentacles of the same likeness of the toy he had bought. The eldritch terror that had become Ratchet’s face wriggled violently at him as he stared. Suddenly, the tentacles split apart to their bases and revealed beak-like orifices. They opened in unison and let out a shriek that frightened him.

Rung shot up on his berth with his spark pulsing rapidly within him. He was alone in the dark like any other recharge period. As the initial jolt of having such a nightmare subsided, everything came crashing down all at once. His unrequited feelings for Ratchet that haunted him, the humiliation and misery he had wrought on himself with his exotic purchase, the disgust and uncertainty that was now living within his inner valve port. It was all becoming too much for him.  
Then, a thought came to him. Perhaps a drink would help. Rung wasn’t much of a drinker and his visits to Swerve’s were irregular, not that anyone would have noticed anyway. He checked the time, then knew if he was going to get that drink he needed to go start heading out due to the current hour.

As he slid off his berth, he wondered if Swerve would be irritated with a customer coming in so close to closing. But all wondering about anything ended as soon as his pedes hit the floor. A sudden pain erupted from inside his valve and sent intense signals throughout his frame. Something was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. He staggered to the control panel by the exit and shakily punched in the code that turned on the overhead lights.

He looked down at himself to see his legs streaked with fresh lubricant. He turned around to look at the floor and then at his berth. There was fluid everywhere, all over the metal recharge slab and a spotted trail he had just made from his short lived departure.

Another pang hit him and he fell to the ground. He trembled on his knee plates and whined as the pain took hold of him. Then, he felt it. That damned tentacle moving. It was the only explanation for all of this. Angry and scared, Rung moved a hand towards his valve, which was already exposed, probably from that hellish wet dream if one could call even call it that. Despite the sharp pains he was being forced to endure, the smallest glimmer of hope began to emerge as the tentacle started moving out of his valve.

Taking a shaking hand and bracing himself against the floor with the other, the orange mech parted the metal folds of his valve lips to help ease the “creature’s” exit. Time ceased to exist as the object of his bane slid out of him and onto the floor, and a decent amount of mixed fluids with it. Rung let out the biggest sigh of released as he had finally been freed of the accursed thing.

_Or so he thought._

* * *

It had been weeks since Rung’s misadventures with that so called sex toy had transpired and he was beyond thrilled to have his boring, monotenous, still very single life back. In fact, today just so happened to be the rescheduled appointment with Rodimus. He refused to recall the reason why the session had been postponed to a later date to avoid upsetting himself.

The session went very smoothly, and Rodimus even had a personal breakthrough with delighted the psychoanalyst. To celebrate, the smaller mech offered to treat the captain to a drink, to which the flame painted mech accepted immediately.

So they went to Swerve’s and Rung ordered a drink for each of them, and before Rodimus knew it, Rung had already gone through his before the other had even gotten a third of the way through his own.

“Slow down, Rung,” he warned. “Don’t want you getting over energized too quickly.”

Rung chuckled at the remark as he ordered another drink for himself.

“Actually, Rodimus, I don’t get over energized anymore.”

“Huh?”

“I know, it’s weird but it’s true. Not that I’ve purposefully _tried_ to get to that point, but Swerve won’t let me order anything after my tenth beverage now.”

_“Tenth beverage?!?”_ the red mech exclaimed.

“Well, not just drinks, but anything really. Energon goodies, beryllium biscuits, wheel-nuts…” he began counting several snack foods Swerve offered on his fingers. “Actually, let me order some of those. Do you like wheel-nuts, Rodimus? I can order extra if you’d like.”

“Uhh, I’ll pass,” he said, taking a shallow gulp of his first and probably only drink of the evening. Rodimus was glad to see his shrink acting like his usual nerdy self, but the way the tiny bot was putting away fuel was alarming to say the least. Swerve had mentioned something to him in confidence about it, about limiting his orders, but he didn’t realize it was this of an extreme. Swerve said that Rung had told him that everything was fine and he was ok, but Swerve confessed to Rodimus that he wasn’t really sure if that was the case, even admitting to his own usage of consumption as a means to cope with personal issues.

Rodimus watched as Rung returned with a large platter of wheel-nuts and another large drink for himself. He took another awkward sip.

“Hey, Rung,” he began after a swallow. “I wanna ask you something.”

“Hm?” the other hummed with a mouth full of food.

“How have you been doing? Like, _personally?_”

“Same as always,” Rung stated matter of factly. “Why?”

Rodimus began rubbing the back of his neck cabling and avoiding optic contact.

“I dunno. You just seem kinda different and I was wondering if everything was ok.”

_“Don’t mention his mass gain, don’t mention his mass gain, don’t mention his mass gain.." _the captain chanted to himself.

The happy look on the smaller mech’s face melted into a frown. He put down the wheel-nut he was about to eat and laid his hands in his lap.

“It’s my increase in mass, isn’t it…?”

_“W-What?!_ No! No, Rung, listen no one cares that you’ve gotten fat—”

_“Shit.”_

Rung planted his face into his hands and began to cry softly into them. Immediately, Rodimus outstretched an arm over the booth’s table and gently squeezed the other’s shoulder.

“Don’t cry!! Please don’t cry. Rung, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. What I meant was—”

He lifted his head from his hands and gave Rodimus an extremely cross look with the angriest of eyebrows.

“It doesn’t matter what you meant. You shouldn’t have said it.”

And with that the orange mech got up, optical fluid streaking his face, and left the bar.

But not without returning to the table, finishing Rodimus’ drink for him, and putting some credits next to their empty glasses.

* * *

  
As Rung speedily walked back to his personal quarters, he could feel every pair of optics on his noticeably thicker frame, especially his lower abdominal region which had been retaining most of the mass increase. It wasn’t his fault, he tried to assure himself. It wasn’t his fault that for whatever reason he hadn’t been able to satisfy his fuel intake levels like he used to. It wasn’t his fault that he was having sporadic mood swings and other _complications_.

Entering his room, he could feel one of those complications coming online and pressurizing at a rapid rate in its housing.

_“Again?”_ he huffed. “This is the third time today..”

After making sure the door was tightly sealed, he remotely unlocked his upper array cover, allowing the fully formed spike to curl into his protruding midsection. It twitched and begged for another go round. Succumbing to yet another siren song of his mysterious condition, Rung made his way to the shower area of his suite and turned on the shower fixture. The warm cleansing solution washed over him and his swollen spike and he took the length into his grip and began yet another session of self service.

His servo glided over the wet metal like cyber butter and stroked every sensory node that decorated it. Whatever this strange condition was that had overtaken him, it sure did make touching himself much more pleasurable. Rung couldn’t help but groan and moan as his pace quickened on himself. It had only been a few minutes into this private moment that his array pinged him, letting him know that he would be approaching overload soon.

After receiving the alert, he slowed his motions significantly as to extend the signals that were generating from his spike. He struggled to control his urge to just go ahead and make himself overload, but he wanted this moment to last. He wanted to enjoy himself in peace, alone and without thinking of his newfound personal problems. Despite wanting this, someone had decided that Rung would be interrupted from his current endeavours. The psychiatrist cut off the water as his audio comm pinged him again. It was an unknown personal frequency hailing him. Annoyed, he drew his hand away from his throbbing spike and answered the call.

“This is Rung,” he announced, hoping he didn’t sound as irritated as he actually was.

“Rung, this is Ratchet.”

Suddenly, Rung found his servo back on his spike with a firm grip, squeezing out some pre-fluid in the process. He cleared his vocalizer.

“Hello, Ratchet,” he replied plainly.

“I’ll get right to the point,” the medic began. “I need to see you at your earliest convenience. Doctor’s orders.”

Without having to issue the command, Rung’s hand started up again and worked back down his spike at the words that were being said to him. It was just like something he had envisioned being said to him in one of his many fantasies with the ship’s medical officer. But this was _real_. This was real and it was turning him on to no end. He stroked faster in his excitement and nearly bit his lower lip off.

“Rung?”

He stopped, allowing himself a brief moment to regain some kind of composure.

“Yes, I’m still here,” he spoke through gritted dentae.

_“Keep touching yourself,”_ his thought processor suggested. _“Touch yourself while Ratchet talks to you.”_

A tempting thought. One that he shouldn’t even be entertaining. But Rung was in a very vulnerable state and gave in to this subconscious desire.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked as calmly as he could while stimulating his spike with his touch.

“It’s about your recent changes in behaviour and structure. I’d like to run a few scans, possibly conduct some tests, too. This is more of a _strongly urged medical request_ than an order. I have an idea as to what you might be going through, but it’s a bit far fetched. You’re welcome to decline, that’s your right, but I’d like for you to come.”

“You want me to come?!” the smaller mech squeaked, his array sending him notifications that he would be overloading at any given moment.

“Yes. I want you to come,” the doctor answered.

“Ratchet, I’m coming!! ♥️”

As soon as he said that, he slapped his free servo over his mouth. His face place flushed deep at the realization of what he had just said, but it was too late. His spike spurted thick streams of transfluid onto the tiled floor with each pulsation. His optics flared and his ventilations hitched behind the palm of his hand as he climaxed, unbeknownst to Ratchet who was still on the other end of the call.

“Good. I’ll see you shortly.”

* * *

The trip to the medbay wasn’t without its dread. Rung repeatedly told himself that this was going to be nothing more than a routine checkup of sorts, but uncertainty still wavered in his spark.

Knowing that he was going to be walking in and having the mech of his dreams run some diagnostic testing on him was the least of his concerns. What _really_ bothered him was whether or not Ratchet had figured out what he had been doing on his end of their call. He brushed it off, hoping that Ratchet had been oblivious to it.

He entered the medbay and regretted doing so as soon as the ambulance became registered through his optics. Like clockwork, his array booted up again and started another cycle of heatwaves. Before Rung could even contemplate turning right around and leaving, Ratchet had already spotted him.

“Glad to see you finally made it,” the medic said gruffly. He set the datapad he had in those delicate hands of his safely into his subspace before patting a slab of metal used by patients. “Have a seat.”

Rung hoisted himself onto the examination table with little difficulty. Ratchet came over and adjusted a large mechanism that was fixated on the ceiling above the examination table Rung was lying on.

“This won’t take long, will it?” Rung asked nervously. The arousal between his legs grew hotter and hotter with the prolonged exposure to Ratchet’s presence. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible before his need became unbearingly uncomfortable.

“That depends on the first scan,” the doctor answered. “If the first scan doesn’t show anything then you’re free to go.”

“I don’t expect you’ll find anything of interest,” Rung replied back.

“We’ll see.”

Ratchet turned on the machine and it hummed to life over the well rounded psychiatrist. It moved on its own, hovering over his frame in a line before returning back to its original position on the ceiling. The medic stood in front of a monitor and examined the data the machine was feeding into the terminal’s display. After a few moments of silence, Ratchet let out a distressing sigh.

“What is it, Ratchet?” Rung asked, his voice laced with concern. Ratchet turned to the psychiatrist with a serious look about him, which didn’t help him feel any better. He fiddled with his fingers as he worried. He had only put on a bit of weight. Nothing serious, right?

“Rung, forgive me, but I’m going to ask you a very personal question.”

The mech in question swallowed hard.

“..Alright. Go ahead,” he nodded.

“In the past few weeks, have you used anything..._foreign_, for personal use?”

Rung could feel this face plates grow hot. He wasn’t going to answer this, was he?

“I..why do you ask?” he stammered.

“Because depending on your answer it might explain a few things. If you please, Rung. Answer the question.”  
Rung averted his optics, mortified that once again his bad decision had landed him back into a humiliating predicament.

“..Yes.”

“What was it?”

Rung refused to say anymore. Instead, he withdrew his data pad from his own subspace. After finding the order confirmation he had received for what was supposed to have been a non-sentient false spike, he handed it to Ratchet without a word and folded his arms in front of himself. He was having another mood shift, and he dared not say anything ugly to Ratchet. And with his heat radiating by the second, he dared not say anything inappropriate either.

“I don’t understand what any of this has to do with gaining a bit of weight,” the smaller mech spat out with a vexed tone. Ratchet handed the data pad back. This conversation was becoming tenser by the moment, and Ratchet had to act fast.

“There’s no easy way to put this so I’m going to be blunt with you. You’re pregnant.”

Rung had never laughed harder in his life. _Him? Pregnant?!_ Impossible. Ridiculous, even.

“Ratchet, you and I both know that’s physically impossible. Only organic lifeforms can breed and produce offspring. Besides, I am,” he paused, _“a very single mech.”_

Ratchet opened his mouth to answer back, but was quickly interrupted by the snapping of fingers.

“I’ve got it!” Rung declared. “This is a prank, isn’t it? Did Rodimus set this up? This has got to be some kind of joke.”

“No, Rung. It’s not a joke. If you have any appointments for this evening, I suggest you go ahead and cancel them.”

“What?! Why?”

“Because you’re going to be laying eggs for the next few hours.”

* * *

  
Rung had many fantasies of Ratchet. The fantasies varied between settings and exchanges in dialogue. His personal favorite was dreaming of the medic’s face as close to his valve as possible. How he wished the dream would become a reality overload after overload, and at long last, it was a reality. But this reality was the worst possible one.

Ratchet had placed his legs into stirrups and inserted a speculum into his valve to create a wider and more visible sight. The doctor sat in a chair at the end of metal slab with a cart of hand-held medical equipment at his side.

“Good, you’re already aroused. This will make things a lot easier.”

Rung wanted to die right then and there. Yes, he was quite aroused, but having to hear it in that context made his tank churn.

Ratchet had explained that the toy he thought he had bought was actually the severed reproductive organ of a cephalopod creature known in the scientific community as _Tentalicus Hentae_. These organic lifeforms reproduce without needing a mate and lay their eggs in metallic pockets found in certain asteroids where they would grow and eventually hatch. The valves of cybertronians made excellent homes for such clutches, and unfortunately Rung had unknowingly turned himself into a living incubator.

The eggs themselves are laid with a secretion that glues them into place as a way to prevent any damage in the event of an asteroid collision. This also meant that these eggs inside of Rung were not going anywhere anytime soon. That is, they wouldn’t be without any medical assistance.

“In order to break the hardened substance that’s keeping the eggs from releasing I’ll have to introduce a catalyst.”

“W-What kind of catalyst?” Rung frantically asked.

“One that’ll make you overload as quickly as possible.”

“I beg your pardon?!?”

“I’m assuming you’ve been primarily using your spike these past few weeks, is that correct?”

“..Perhaps.”

“Rung.”

“Alright, fine. Yes, I’ve only been using my spike. What of it?” he snapped.

“The natural lubrication from your valve will act as the dissolving agent and there needs to be a lot of it. The sooner the better. According to the scans, those eggs are about a week from hatching, days even.”

“Now wait a minute!” the smaller mech interjected, sitting up as best he could given his current position.. “How do you know all this? You’re talking as if you’ve seen this before!”

“I have. And waiting any longer isn’t advisable.”

Rung fell back down and furrowed his brow. He thought this was all over the moment the organ had been removed from his body. But apparently not.

“So, what do you intend on doing?”

“I’m going to insert a stimulant and affix it onto your ceiling node. Knowing how the eggs from this species affect internal cycle regulation, you should be very responsive. After a few overloads, most of the eggs should come out fine.”

“What do you mean by _‘most’?”_

“Any eggs that aren’t dislodged and the remnant of the hardened secretion will have to be scraped clean by yours truly.”

“Lovely,” Rung retorted sarcastically, his face flushing in the process.

“Very,” Ratchet replied.

Rung, pinching the bridge of his nose, sighed.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Hearing the magic words, Ratchet reached over and grabbed something akin to a microchip. It was wirelessly connected to a device he had lying on the med cart next to him. He turned one the device and waited for the microchip to light up, signifying that it was online and connected, ready for use.

“I’m going to begin by inserting the stimulant chip. You may feel some pressure.”

Pressure wasn’t the word Rung would have used. Ratchet inserted the microchip into Rung’s valve and pressed it firmly onto his ceiling nod. The sensation excited the poor spark and he involuntarily bucked his hips into the medic’s touch. Ratchet dismissed the action as any other knee-jerk response and continued, considering Rung to be nothing more than another patient.

After he had made sure the small plate was snuggly put onto the smaller mech’s ceiling node, he reached over and grabbed the wireless remote and handed it to Rung.

“Patients are more comfortable when they do this part themselves. Just turn the dial until it’s at a comfortable level.”

Rung twisted the knob of the remote and the chip inside of him began to buzz. After turning it a few clicks more, the orange mech really started to feel it. He set the device down beside him and offlined his optics. Despite all the countless fantasies he had of the medic where they looked at each other, this was a much different circumstance. Embarrassment circulated through his fuel lines and Ratchet was the last thing he wanted to see right now. He balled a servo into a fist and bit down on it as the first overload approached.

“I can see some of the eggs shifting. You’re doing great, Rung.”

The sound of praise made him bite down on himself harder, creating a small line of dents from his dentae. He could hear the sound of Ratchet grabbing a metal pan and bringing it towards his valve opening. Was he really able to tell that he was already _close_? As if he wasn’t embarrassed enough..

_“A-AAAAH!!” _he shouted. The overload was barely enjoyable and the result of it would have killed any mech’s heat drive. As he came, he could feel things being pushed out of his valve and heard them hitting the bottom of the metal pan. It felt and sounded wrong and he wished this whole ordeal would end quickly.

_“By the Matrix,”_ Ratchet muttered, “I’m going to need another pan.”

_Very quickly._

However, the process, as Ratchet had mentioned earlier, would not be a quick one. After a few more overloads, a break to refuel, and one final climax, Rung had filled three entire pans with red, opaque eggs. He was well spent.

“Is it over?” he whined to the medic.

“Almost,” Ratchet assured. “All that’s left is to remove the chip and thoroughly clean your valve port..”

Rung didn’t respond. He was too tired. So he laid there as he had been this entire time as the ambulance removed the chip from inside of him and used various tools to scrape away at any remaining forgeign substances.

“All done,” Ratchet decreed, removing the speculum as the final act of the procedure.

Rung sighed deeply, feeling a weight being lifted from him.

“Thank you, Ratchet.” he said as he took his legs out of the stirrups and dangled them over the side of the examination table.

“You’re quite welcome,” the white mech replied. “You’re free to go.”

Rung hopped down onto the floor and began to stretch his stiff leg linkages.

“I can trust that this will remain between us then?”

“Patient privacy is always upheld, you know that.”

“Right, just..checking.”

Rung finished his stretches and headed towards the exit with the biggest smile on his face. The turmoil was finally over. No more tentacles, no more embarrassing predicaments, no more unwanted surprises.

“Oh, and Rung..”

“Yes, Ratchet?” Rung answered back, turning his head to look at the medic.

“The next time I call you, try not to masturbate on the other end.”

Rung frowned.


End file.
